"Lumina, if you truly mean to kill me, at least make it quick before they come to haul me away." I choked out the words to my chief maid, who was currently attempting to crush the life from my ribs with the gown my father had so graciously chosen for me to meet my soon-to-be husband.
My gaze found the mirror, and as I feared, my face had turned the shade of overripe cherries.
"Lumina…" I wheezed, gasping for air.
Only then did she realize she had bound the corset knots tight enough to strangle me from the waist up. She fumbled to loosen them at once, muttering, "I'm sorry, Princess."
Relief poured out of me in a long, exasperated sigh as the ties slackened. Father had ordered her back to make sure I was "dressed properly," after which I am to be paraded out under guard—escorted by the small army currently stationed in my chamber, their backs turned stiffly while I suffocate in lace.
"Corsets are crueller than a scathling's touch," I muttered at last.
"Scathling? I've never heard of such a creature, my lady. Are you certain you were attacked by one? There's not a mark on you."
When I returned, I told anyone willing to listen about my encounter. Oddly, I caught the commander's and my father's shift in expression. Neither addressed it. Instead, Father ordered me back to my room to be dressed and ready for departure.
I lifted my arm, prepared to show where the creature's touch had poisoned me, only to find no wound at all.
I could have sworn it scratched me. Or had its touch alone delivered the poison? Or perhaps Lucas had treated me?
At the thought of Lucas, everything inside me wound tight, each breath a cruel reminder of how desperately I longed to be touched.
"Princess Elara."
But not by him.
My gaze slid to the door where Roland stood. He made to rush toward me, but one sharp look from the guards rooted him in place.
And suddenly I was thankful for their presence.
I had first thought Roland had been discovered in the act of covering for me—dragged off, beaten, perhaps even stripped of his title and thrown into the dungeon. But I was later briefed by Lumina that he had leapt from the window the instant he heard the guards opening the door.
At the time, My father had instructed the guards to check up on me from time to time. Because even with a guard planted at my very door, my father's mistrust ran so deep that he believed I would find a way to defy him.
And I failed to prove him wrong.
"Is there a reason you are here, Roland?" I asked finally.
"His Majesty has ordered your immediate departure, the beasts are already at the palace gate, earlier than expected."
My eyes widened. Oh dear.
The guards stationed in my room closed ranks and began to usher me out. This time, I didn't resist or waste breath arguing. The news left me too rattled, a coil of nerves and fear twisting inside me.
I half expected the ground beneath the palace to tremble with their approach, for windows to rattle, for the air to quake with their presence.
But as the guards steered me through the corridor, I felt no pulse of dread. No sense of the nightmare I had been promised. Only the weight of silence pressing down, and the clatter of armor at my back.
I had been told all my life that the beasts were ruin incarnate. Fang and claw wrapped in ugliness, a terror so great it could not be mistaken. And yet there was no roar. No shadow leaping across the windowpanes. Only the faint glow of torches beyond the glass, flickering against the darkening sky.
Then, without thinking, I slowed. My gaze strayed to one of the tall windows overlooking the courtyard below.
Movement caught my eye. Soldiers shifted into lines, their polished armor reflecting sparks of torchlight. The scene was strangely orderly, not at all the chaos I had braced for.
And at the forefront… a figure stood apart.
A figure I recognized even from the distance.
"Lucas.." I breathed out.
And then, as if pulled by the sound of my voice, he stopped mid-step. His head lifted, his eyes cutting through the distance like an arrow. They found mine.
And the same wild, consuming thrill seized me, tightening my chest, stealing my breath, making my knees feel untrustworthy beneath me.
But before I could hold onto it, before I could drink him in, a guard shoved me forward, tearing me away from the window.
Insisting I keep moving that we didn't have much time.
I clenched my jaw, forcing my face forward. Yet the ghost of Lucas's stare lingered, burning hotter than the torches below.
What was he doing here? I thought the Werewolves were coming…?
Confusion coiled sharp in my gut. For a breathless moment, a thought slipped through—was Lucas one of them? A beast?
A shiver chased down my spine at the notion, not entirely unpleasant.
No. Impossible. He looked far too human.
Yet the memory rose unbidden: the way he had snapped the scathling's head as though it were no more than dry kindling. And when I saw him in the clearing, he didn't seem to be carrying a weapon.
Nothing to mark him as a hunter.
"I wish we were allowed to move like the princess rather than stay here and fight to our death," one of the guards muttered, dragging me from my thoughts.
"With the king finally managing to draw the werewolf king out of hiding and into his palace, things are about to get rather bloody," another replied grimly.
"I heard he has a horn growing straight out of his forehead…" a third whispered, voice low as if the very walls might hear.
I shut them out, their words slipping into a dull hum at the back of my mind.
Slowly, a resolved settled in my chest.
Lucas must have been someone from another kingdom, a noble perhaps, fleeing with his people in tow to come seek refuge here. It would explain the faces I glimpsed behind him, the way he carried himself.
But the timing was ruinous. They would mistake him for the werewolf king. They would strike him down before a word could be spoken.
And if the true king learned of such treachery, if word of an ambush reached him before he ever set foot in Novami…
He would never come.
And the mayhem would only continue, spilling further, bleeding worse than before.
I slowed, the guards tugging at my arms, their armor rattling in the silence.
I exhaled and the sound felt like sealing my fate. The guards didn't notice it, didn't see the shift in me, until I wrenched sideways and ripped the sword from one of their belts. A single cut slashed through the curtains. The next instant, I hurled myself into the night from the nearby window.
The drop tore at me, wind snatching my hair, stone flashing past before the earth rose hard and unforgiving. I landed in the manicured hedges, rolling, a sting racing across my arms and knees. Pain bit sharp, but I pushed through it, shoving upright before the guards even shouted my name.
"Princess!" Their voices broke behind me, armor clattering as they lunged to the window. "Get her!"
I ran, breath tearing through my chest, pushing past the sting in my body. The gardens blurred as I leapt over trimmed bushes and crossed the torchlit path. All I saw was Lucas standing ahead, his people frozen behind him. As they watched me… as he watched me.
By the time I reached him, my lungs were raw. I forced the words out.
"You have to leave. You can't be here. There's an ambush for the werewolf king. They think it's you. Take your people and go."
He didn't move. His eyes went to the bruise on my arm, not the guards swarming the walls.
"Do you not hear me?" I grabbed his sleeve. "Lucas, go!"
"Elara!"
The voice struck sharp. I turned.
At the palace steps, my father stood, pale and fierce, fear trembling through his command.
"You must go back inside. Now."
"Father, you don't understand. He is not who you think—"
"Elara!" he roared, his voice shaking the courtyard.
Before I could answer, Lucas spoke behind me, calm and unflinching.
"Princess Elara. Let me introduce myself properly."
I turned, heart hammering.
"I am Lucas Veynar…"
"Get away from him, Elara. He is the—" my father's voice cut through, dragging my eyes back to him.
"I am the Werewolf King."
The blood drained from my face as I turned to him. For a heartbeat, his features shifted… beast breaking through man, as if to show me proof of his claim. My legs faltered beneath me, the world tilting out of reach.
And before I could fall, his arm was already around me.
It struck me then that this was the second time today the King of Beasts had held me in his grasp.
I steadied myself, ready to pull away, but his grip tightened. My fingers slipped toward one of the hidden blades tucked beneath my skirts—only to hear the soft clatter of metal on stone. All three of them.
He must have disarmed me when he caught me.
Before I could react, he pulled me closer, his hand rising to my throat. His nails—no, claws—pressed against my skin, a silent warning that even the smallest movement would cost me blood.
"I have come to you willingly," he said, voice calm and steady, "with an open mind about your offer for a truce."
My gaze darted to my father. His face was pale, his eyes flicking from me to Lucas as though weighing which of us was the greater disaster. And in that look, guilt hit me hard. I'd caused this.
My late Mother's words echoed like a curse: your stubbornness will cost you one day.
Lucas continued, his tone carrying that strange mix of civility and menace.
"You offered me your kingdom, and I came with an army not to conquer but to give them to you to help dwell in peace. Because I admired the courage of a king willing to sacrifice his throne for his people."
He paused, his crimson gaze cutting through the silence. "But I should have known better. The hearts of men are always filled with deceit."
I frowned. Deceit? As if he were the victim here. He was the King of Beasts—the very creature whose kind tore through kingdoms and left ashes in their wake.
"So now," he said, his claws easing just enough for me to breathe, "I will take the one thing you did not have the courage to offer."
There was a pause from him as though he was taking his time to deliver a good blow.
"I will take your princess as my wife. And your kingdom will be my stepping stool."
For a moment, the courtyard went silent. I could feel his breath against my neck, steady, unbothered, as if the world had just agreed to his terms.
And here I thought being promised to a mortal harlot was the worst fate imaginable.
Turns out, the gods have a far crueler sense of humor.